Something That Belongs To Me
by nowarning23
Summary: Arthur is the point man, the one who always plays the hero and saves the day... When he is caught in a life or death situation and cannot save himself, he must come to terms with defeat, or let someone else take the lead. Violence, one-shot.


**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, it belongs to Warner Bros and other creative outlets and people, I don't intend to profit from this in any way. I am just trying to curb my own writer's block.**

**One-shot, has nothing to do with "To Lose My Life."**

The punch sent Arthur sprawling backwards. Well, his face, at least.

His head snapped to the side, directly due to the force behind the hand that hit him across the face. He could feel the imprint in his cheek, stinging, and he could imagine how red the skin looked. He sat still for a moment, absorbing the blow and letting his nerves resettle, before turning his head back to face his assailant.

The man in front of him was comically angry, his own face red, but for reasons much different than Arthur's. He'd rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt back, and Arthur could see the man was sweating profusely. Less from exertion, he figured, than frustration.

"Tell me!" The man screeched, spit flying everywhere.

Arthur blinked, taking his time. He flexed his arms, but that didn't do much; he was bound too tightly to the chair, his hands tied around the back of it. His black skinny tie was slightly askew, while his white dress shirt was stained with random drops of his blood.

The next punch found its mark in Arthur's cheek, and his head swung again. Arthur closed his eyes.

"Why won't you speak?" The man demanded furiously. He grabbed Arthur's face in his hand, squeezing Arthur's chin hard, forcing him to meet his enraged eyes.

Arthur merely looked back, uninterested.

The man gave something between a huff and a growl, shoving Arthur's face aside and beginning to pace. Arthur leaned over and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

He'd been there for at least an hour, being beaten to a pulp the entire time. His face was covered with bruises and cuts, and even with the spitting, he could feel a trail of blood sliding out of the corner of his mouth. His head was throbbing with a splitting migraine due to all the blows.

He was almost certain it wasn't a dream, but he had no way of knowing for sure with the dice stuck in his pants pocket, out of reach.

Arthur remembered unlocking the hotel room, opening the door, setting the key on a hall table, rounding the corner and then… Nothing. They must have knocked him out in a second.

"_Who hired you?"_ The man demanded, pausing in front of Arthur again. Arthur knew his name was Paulson, the brother-in-law of the man he and the team had successfully completed an extraction on a few hours before. He didn't know who the men standing in the background, watching Paulson assault Arthur, were.

Arthur was choosing the silent route, one he was fond of and did well. He watched Paulson, with the bored face of someone watching a random show on the television because nothing else was on.

Paulson grabbed handfuls of his own hair, and resumed his pacing. Arthur ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, searching for a blood-free place and finding none. He could only imagine what his teeth looked like.

"Eh, sir?"

Arthur and Paulson both looked to the source of the new voice. It was one of the witnesses, a bald man in a deep gray suit. He stared at Paulson for a moment, trying to silently communicate with him. Paulson sighed deeply and mumbled something unintelligible to Arthur's ears, shuffling over to join the man in a part of the room out of Arthur's hearing range. In response to Paulson's departure, two of his cronies raised their rifles (_so primitive_, Arthur thought) at Arthur, practically daring him to attempt escape.

Arthur had learned pretty quickly that his captors weren't the brightest he'd encountered. Aside from Paulson, it was obvious that they were all new to the business of kidnap and beatings.

At the moment, his escape options were severely limited. The room he was in was a strange one; all thick cement concrete and no windows. The only way in was through an unassuming door, which Paulson, prior to his assault on Arthur, had smugly informed Arthur that it was locked from the inside.

"_So even if your team manages to find this place—which they won't—they won't have a prayer of breaking in!_"

Arthur couldn't say how accurate that statement was, as he had no idea what the rest of the building looked like. Judging by how thick the walls were, and the pipes running along the ceiling, they were in the basement.

He wondered if the team had figured out he was missing yet. They had all gone their separate ways following the completion of the job, following data Arthur had gathered that suggested their mark's co-workers and acquaintances would be infuriated if they ever found out how much the team had extracted, or the fact that an extraction had occurred at all. And while the team had mostly shrugged off the threat, the fact remained that they ought to split apart for twenty-four hours after the job. Just to be safe.

_Just to be safe_, Arthur frowned. _That went well_.

So, chances were, they hadn't figured it out yet. But then again, he really had no idea how long he'd been knocked out…

But there was something bothering Arthur.

"Excuse me?" He called, doing his best to keep his voice casual, masking his discomfort and the pain in his face. Paulson abruptly turned away from the bald man, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Quick question," Arthur said. "How did you get me out of the hotel?"

Paulson stared at Arthur for a long moment. The look on his face told Arthur that he was trying to decide if Arthur was being serious or not.

"Why?" He replied.

Arthur tried to shrug his shoulders; it didn't really work, with his hands tied behind his back. "It was a crowded hotel. People everywhere. I was on the twelfth floor."

Paulson seemed to inwardly debate with himself for a moment. He turned to the bald man and nodded once. The man shuffled away, moving behind Arthur. Arthur could hear him walking to the back of the room, but didn't bother to crane his neck to see what he was up to; he kept his gaze focused on Paulson.

"We bought out the head of security," Paulson explained. "He organized a way out for us."

"I see," Arthur murmured.

Paulson eyed him. "You're very calm, Mr. Beckett."

And they were using a pseudonym Arthur had used on a job five months ago. "I've been in several situations like this before, Mr. Paulson."

"No," Paulson said slowly. His eyes were no longer focused on Arthur, but behind him. Arthur could hear something being wheeled across the concrete floor, along with what sounded like a chair's legs dragging along, but kept his eyes straight ahead to Paulson.

Paulson blinked, finally returning his gaze to Arthur. "No, I don't think so."

The dragging and wheeling abruptly stopped. Arthur only had a moment to comprehend this before he was yanked up by the arms. The sudden change in position caused his head to throb more and he closed his eyes, only to be slammed down in a seated position again.

He opened his eyes as the ropes around his arms fell away. Arthur winced as his arms were brought to the front and tied, palms up, to the arms of the new chair he was sitting in. He watched, confused and a little stupefied (his head hurt a _lot_) as the bald man and a different man brutally ripped the sleeves of his shirt away, exposing his forearms.

The moment he saw his skin, Arthur realized he'd missed a golden opportunity. He clenched his fists to pull up, but a blow to the back of his head with something heavy caused his focus to slide, and his wrists were tightly zip-tied to the chair.

"Nice try," Paulson said with a smirk.

Arthur inhaled tightly, shaking his head to clear the stars in his vision. He watched a handgun pass in front of him and realized what he'd been hit with.

"Mr. Beckett," Paulson said in a pleasant tone that was unnerving to Arthur in how calm it was. Gone was the frustrated man before; he'd been replaced with someone cool and collected; things Arthur himself normally was. "You are a dream thief. You commonly stick a needle into your wrist and inject yourself with a drug to dream."

As he spoke, Paulson approached Arthur, running one finger over the countless scars that adorned Arthur's upturned wrists.

"Several hours ago," Paulson continued, "You completed an extraction on my brother-in-law. I, of course, found out too late. But once it'd come to my attention that the men my brother-in-law mentioned he was meeting for a business lunch were, in fact, dream thieves we'd both been warned about… Well, I decided to track them down."

Arthur wondered why Paulson was telling him all this but didn't comment. He knew what he was being told would only help him figure out what had happened and what was to be done next.

"Your team is a hard one to find," Paulson said. "I only had a couple tips to go on, from the patrons at the restaurant who happened to see you all pass through. I showed them a photo of my brother-in-law. And then I asked them to describe who he was with.

"And would you believe it," Paulson chuckled. "But there were two nice older ladies who couldn't stop talking about the handsome man who had taken the time to help them clean up a spilled purse, even though it meant he was separated from the rest of his lunch party. And how they'd had a short conversation with the man afterwards."

Arthur sighed, a smile forming on his face. "Eloise and Anna."

"Yes," Paulson confirmed. "What a nice chat you three had. You made quite the impression on them, Mr. Beckett. They couldn't stop talking about what a dear that Arthur was." Paulson smiled. "Well, I contacted my affiliates who have… experience, with dream sharing. And one of them told me about how they'd hired a single man for a simple job, and his name was Arthur Beckett."

"Mr. Raible," Arthur murmured.

"We went to high school together," Paulson said. "Now we knew your name and what you looked like. Well, the name isn't correct; you're currently parading around as Arthur Portman."

"And how did you find that one out?"

"You had to give an ID when you made hotel reservations," Paulson said. "A little light hacking, a run-through with the photo provided by Mr. Raible… And here we are."

"Indeed," Arthur said softly.

"Mr. Portman—Can I call you Mr. Portman?"

Arthur shrugged. "Be my guest."

Paulson nodded. "Mr. Portman. I will give you one more chance. Tell me who hired you and what you extracted from my brother-in-law."

"I can't," Arthur murmured.

"Why not?"

"Ethics."

Paulson sighed. "I tire of your sarcasm, Mr. Portman. You are certain… There is nothing I can do to convince you?"

Arthur didn't say anything.

"Fine," Paulson grumbled. "Then pay close attention, Mr. Portman. The reason I shared that story is because in about-" He shook back the sleeve of his dress shirt to look at his watch "—Twenty minutes, give or take, you will be dead."

Arthur straightened slightly, his attention caught. "How so?"

Paulson nodded and the bald man returned, stepping just behind Arthur. The wheels started up again, and Arthur turned his head to see what looked like an empty blood transfusion bag.

He studied it for a moment, his careful eyes running past the bag to the tube it was connected to, which was run along to a needle. It all seemed fine… Until his eyes alighted on the steel box everything was hooked to.

"How do you feel about a new needle scar?" Paulson asked.

Horror washed over Arthur as he connected the dots. "You're going to forcibly make me bleed to death. By taking my blood out by a needle."

"Bingo, Mr. Portman."

The bald man took the needle in his hand and Arthur knew he had to move fast. He jerked his head, and the bald man went sprawling, yelling out with the blow to his ear. With his foot, Arthur wrapped his foot around the edge of the table and flipped it, sending the entire mechanism crashing to the floor in the hope that something would break. He spun his head around, his mind working feverishly to—

_Bang_.

Arthur screamed, leaning forward as pain like white fire ran up his left leg. He looked down, watching the red blood leaking from the bullet hole in his shin, the floor in front of him splattered with it.

It wasn't the kneecap, but it sure hurt.

Already momentarily incapacitated, Arthur's mental state wasn't helped in the slightest when he received an agonizing blow to the head with the handgun. Again. And again. Slamming into his cheek. Into his nose, breaking it easily. He could hear voices yelling something, but nothing made sense…

A sharp and burning stab to his right arm brought him back.

Arthur glanced down and felt a thrill of horror at the sight of the needle jammed into the crook of his elbow, bands of rope running across his chest and stomach, preventing him from moving. While he'd been beaten with the handgun, someone had straightened the table and fixed the transfusion device. He glanced up; Paulson stood there, looking grave.

"Last chance, Mr. Portman," he said quietly.

Arthur knew he looked terrible; he could feel blood running down his leg and his face, dripping into his eyes. He could barely lift his head; but a hand seizing his chin and forcing his head up to Paulson changed that.

"With your leg losing blood to, your time has been drastically cut," Paulson reminded him. "Tell me what you extracted and who hired you."

Arthur used what energy he could muster and spat a mouthful of blood at Paulson. The man swore and Arthur heard a thrumming sound. His chin was dropped; he could now watch the dark red blood being forcibly removed from his arm.

"Bad move," Paulson said angrily. Arthur let his head roll so he could see Paulson, standing a little in front of him. He was wiping his face with a handkerchief, staining the red color of the handkerchief black. He threw the handkerchief to the floor with a huff and faced Arthur. "It will be my pleasure to watch you die."

Arthur blinked furiously, the blood from the cut on his head continuing to drip into his eyes. He could hear movement around him, as the bald man hovered by the transfusion box and the soft murmurings of the other men's voices. His arm and leg were already feeling oddly heavy, and he knew he was down to minutes now…

"Any last words, Mr. Portman?"

"Hm…" Arthur's speech slurred slightly as he moved his head, eyes closed from the pain. "None for you."

Paulson smirked. "Is it really worth it? Your life for a few secrets?" He didn't wait for Arthur to answer, not that Arthur could really articulate what he was thinking. "I wonder… Who will come for your body? Is there anyone out there who would even look for you? Is there anyone who will miss you when you're gone?"

Arthur was feeling oddly cold at this point… Just cold… He kept his eyes closed, blocking out Paulson and focusing on something that had brought him happiness, wondering if this really was the end of everything…

An odd bang interrupted his thoughts, and he forced his eyes open.

The steel door, the only way in and out, had a prominent dent in it. Though his vision was starting to swim, Arthur could recognize that it was from a bullet. Another appeared with an echoing smash.

Paulson's men swarmed, voices loud with anxiety. Paulson himself began giving orders for preparation, but—

Everything happened quickly.

One moment the door was there, standing, and the next, it was flat on the floor. A sudden rush of bullets tore the air, and Paulson's men fell, crying and screaming, including the bald one standing beside Arthur. Arthur could make out a dark figure burst into the room, moving to one of the few remaining men standing—

And then Arthur felt his head being jerked, as a hand roughly seized the hair at the top of his head, forcing his head up in order to press something cold and thin to his neck—

"STOP!"

Everything stilled. Arthur could only see the ceiling now, and not what the room looked like, but judging by Paulson's shout and the way the man's chest inhaled and exhaled directly behind Arthur's head, told Arthur that it wasn't in Paulson's favor.

"Don't move," Paulson continued, "Or I slit his throat and he dies right now."

"Looks like he doesn't have much time left anyway," a man's voice remarked. Arthur closed his eyes. Accented British…

Someone cleared their throat; a woman spoke. "Mr. Paulson, right?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open. _Oh God, no. Why did she come?_

"Yes," Paulson snapped. "Who are you?"

"Someone who you've upset a great deal," the woman replied. "Please, take a step back. I will shoot you in a second if you don't remove that knife from his throat and that needle in his arm."

Paulson snorted. "I find that hard to believe, little girl." Arthur felt Paulson leaned down, and the man's lips at his ear. "This is who comes to your rescue? This is who you put your faith in to save you?"

"I wouldn't screw with her," Eames spoke up.

"How do you fit into this?" Paulson wondered. "Why would you bring so young a woman, just to watch him die?"

"Oh, I didn't bring her," Eames said. "She brought me."

"Mr. Paulson," Ariadne snapped brutishly. Arthur still could not see her, but he could imagine how she looked. He closed his eyes, imagining her face, forcing himself to remain in the moment and to not pass out. He was so cold, and heavy…

"This is your last chance," Ariadne continued. "You have one accomplice left. The rest of your team is dead. Judging by the state Arthur is in, he hasn't told you anything. You have nothing left to fight for. You have five seconds to release him, or I kill you."

Paulson gripped Arthur's hair more tightly and Arthur felt the knife press harder to his throat. He struggled to control his breathing, to fight the panic over how much blood he was losing, how his life was slipping away.

"That's quite a threat to make," Paulson remarked.

"I'm upset with you, Mr. Paulson," Ariadne said.

"Why's that?"

There was a beat of silence. "Because you have stolen something that belongs to me."

_Bang_.

Paulson's grip on Arthur's hair was abruptly lessened. He could feel the man stagger, the knife drop from his hand and slide to the ground. Paulson tumbled to the floor and Arthur's head lolled forward; he had no strength to support it.

He could hear running feet and the sound of a gun falling to the floor. In the next moment, a hand had grabbed his arm. The transfusion machine shut off and Arthur hissed when the needle was yanked from his arm.

"Arthur, Arthur," Ariadne cooed desperately. "Stay with me." He felt her wrapping his arm in something, but his vision was too clouded from the blood and the lightheadedness he was experiencing.

"Ari…" Arthur managed.

"He's lost a ton of blood." The comment came from Eames, and Arthur felt the bigger hands of the forger wrapping the bullet in his leg. "I hope you didn't overdo it, point man." To Ariadne, he added, "I'll flag down the ambulance. They should be outside."

Arthur listened as Eames broke into a run, his feet tapping the floor as he left the room. He felt hands cupping his face, bringing it up. Warm breath fanned over his face.

"Arthur," Ariadne said. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

He forced his eyes to open.

Ariadne was hovering in front of him, her face pale and eyes huge in fear. Her mouth opened in a sigh of relief when his eyes met hers.

He sighed. "T-Took you l-long…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I got to the hotel ten minutes after you did. And I called your room, and you didn't answer, and I looked and… They'd already taken you. I got the team together and then I ran downstairs to the head of security's office." She blushed slightly, and Arthur almost smiled. "I wasn't very nice to him… But he cracked pretty quickly. He told us who hired him. We found where they'd taken you pretty fast, but we got stuck in traffic on the way here."

"Ari," Arthur tried to speak. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and let his eyes close.

"No," she hissed angrily. "Stay awake, Arthur. Don't you dare pass out on me. I'm not done with you."

He smiled, eyes still closed. "Good."

"You're a fool," she snapped, furiously. "Why didn't you just tell them everything? If we'd been just ten minutes later, you'd be dead! Why didn't you tell him?"

"I knew," Arthur mumbled.

Ariadne cupped his cheek with her palm, her hand warm next to his cold skin. "Knew what?"

He forced his eyes to open, to meet her lovely chocolate brown ones. "I knew you would save me."

She sighed deeply. "You stupid man."

As Eames returned with a dozen paramedics, Ariadne pressed a kiss to Arthur's bloody forehead, and he closed his eyes, safe at last.

**Review, please.**


End file.
